Poetry

Slow to wake once again today... the lack of sleep from just staying up later for no good reason has caught up with me... Have been fighting a bad headache most of the day... maybe it's from being too hot (making the mental note that spring is here & there is no need to wear a T-shirt under my dress shirt for warmth any more). Maybe from not hydrating enough.. maybe from change in air pressure, maybe from having too much hair & shaking my head to try to flip it off my brow (though it's not quite long enough for that), or maybe just from being tired.

managed to zombie through work today. Nothing pressing, nothing too exciting. Did some work & went home. Tried napping in my car over lunch & then returning to eat leftover fettucini alfredo & foccacia bread (both cooked yesterday for supper with a friend) at my desk. Had a nap after work, too. The mix of dreams sneaking in & leaving me restless as I (mostly) slept...

Awoke to a quiet house at 7 something PM, checked e-mail & facebook with not too much for new info from friends. Felt lonely in the middle of this, but again, parts of it was feeling generally grotty from the headache.

The headache just wouldn't leave today. After Nap II, ate some leftover stir-fry (chicken, veggies, cashews & a lovely orange-ginger sauce from safeway (V&H brand I think)) & watched an episode of Gilmore Girls. Garnered a few laughs from that... thought about proposals & marriage & kisses, which didn't necessarily help the loneliness....

Was hoping to relax tonight. To paint G.I. Joes & maybe do laundry. The headache sort of got in the way of my motivation, so decided to take the better part of valour & sink deep into a warm bath.... While in the tub fiddled with the assembly of G.I. joe parts into complete figures, trying to figure out the characters of the last couple of possible creations... thought about reading more in the adventures of the Green Lantern Corps, but settled in on reading some out of "Good Poems for Hard Times", a collection of poems gathered by Garrison Keillor that was recommended to me by two wise friends whose voices I deeply respect (one who owned the book, the other reading it for the first time)....

... last Tuesday, I had time to read the introduction to the book, along with Azar Nafizi's essay in the book "My sister guard your veil, My brother guard your eyes". Both passages both shook & comforted me. I've been meaning to write about it, but haven't sat down to scribble it all out yet. Both passages talked about the power of the written word & how many revolutions, & how many internal heart revolutions, are inspired by the written word. This has spoken to me deeply. It's funny how that in all my scheming of trying to figure out how to make a difference in the world, that I neglect my gift of writing. I wonder if it is a universal thing that we despise our own gifts because they are part of our nature - they are not 'easy', for truly most of our gifts cost us dearly, but they just 'are'.... I write because, well, that's what I do. It's in my nature, and so I don't treat it as something special - in the same way that I'm prone to not seeing myself as something special. I'm just me... Other people are amazing & breathtaking.. I'm just me. Maybe it's that I've lived with myself for too long & see all the mundane & forget the glory....

.... but this idea has been haunting me over the week. Especially in places like Sunday where I spent most of church in relative states of grieving. Weeping for the four characters from the Requiem movie, praying for sick friends & watching them to try to be there to catch them if they fell... in the middle of the frustrations, the 'heart sickness' if you will of hope deferred, of this sense of powerlessness of feeling crippled to help & make a difference in the world around me & the people next to me, there is still a voice that speaks of words to be written....

...though at the same time I keep hearing the words of Isaiah 40 quoted to me. In that passage, the Voice calls Isaiah to cry, to yell, to speak & Isaiah, or the voice in the wilderness, or Jesus oro someone, replies:

"What shall I cry? All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field: the grass withers, the flower fades: because the spirit of the LORD bloweth upon it: surely the people is grass. The grass withers, the flower fades: but the word of our God shall stand for ever."

Again & again, I think of 'what should I write', this is the words that I hear in my head. I have no great ideas of what to spill onto the page (other than the range of drivel & profundities that gets dropped into the blog).... & this quote doesn't help fill the gap or give any good story ideas or essay topics, or so I think. All it says is that we are fragile, we fade, we live in this moment of incredible beauty & then it's gone... all that is eternal is God, His words, His voice that speaks always....

...and there is an aspect of where this was felt in the poetry tonight... they are poems in the section called "Kindness to snails" & they are primarily poems of the incredibly mundane things - just life stuff. Lighting fires, starting cars, washing babies, cold mornings, being nice to a wayward snail... but in the power of words, all become touched with so much beauty. The artist's eye seems the moment, turns the lens of the literary camera ever so slightly to catch a different angle, a difference glint of light & in an instant the mundane whispers of glory. In a moment the flowers & grass become clothed more brilliantly than solomon in all his glory... and the most normal of things becomes extraordinary & leaves the reader breathless... in gratitude for the gift of another moment of life & in awe of being able to feel a fraction of what is being spoken....

In the middle of the words, while lounging in the tub, the headache faded, fog lifted.... yesterday at church we talked a bit about the speed of life & not leaving time for our souls to catch up... Somewhere in these moments of poetry, the soul finds home & rest.... and the loneliness fades as there is some connection between writer & reader, voice & listener.....

So I end my day, heart fuller than when I started. Head more clear. Tummy contented after being treated to chocolate ganache & strawberries. My skin still warm from the waters of the tub... there is such a beauty in the written word & I'm thankful that I have the gift to see that & be a part of it. Thankful to participate in the journey of 'the voice'... to speak & be spoken to, to know & to be unravelled in the process of being known...